Cannizaro

Swampy

A family gathering at Chris and Frances’s home in Wroughton, a rare event in that all the siblings were present, led to much reminiscing. Many of the stories, such as when Chris broke his leg the first time, have featured before in this blog.
Joseph, however, was enlightened to learn that when a baby he had been taken on numerous outings by Vivien and me, notably to watch cricket at Cottenham Park, seen here in 1962. Later, Jackie and I had done the same thing. In the second picture he stands between her and Michael, fascinated by the budgie cage at Cannizaro Park in October 1967.
Discussion about the various routes we had taken to reach Wroughton led to mention of the Newbury bypass in Berkshire. Elizabeth travels from West End near Southampton via Newbury, a way previously avoided by Jackie because the town had been such a bottleneck. The bypass was free to be built after Swampy came down from his tree. This man, otherwise known as Daniel Hooper is or was an environmental activist who, in 1996 led a group of hundreds of villagers who set themselves up in tree houses in a vain attempt to prevent the construction of the road taking traffic outside the town. Thousands of people from all over the country joined in this protest which, to the delight of the media, and at least one reader of The Times, lasted for three months. Mr Hooper, who now lives in a yurt in Wales, and spends his time running marathons, is a Newbury man.
After Jackie had driven us back home we dined at the Rivaaz in New Milton and both drank Kingfisher.

Camouflaged Beauty

Knowing we were in for rain today we optimistically shopped at Ferndene Farm Shop for six bags of compost and four of gravel. Jackie had made an early start on weeding more of the brick paths, but as soon as I put in an appearance the precipitation that was to develop into a lengthy thunderstorm began to descend.
On our return from the trip to the shop, I busied myself changing the occasional pictures I first focussed on on 27th April. As before, these A3+ prints have been photographed in situ so that the rooms make their own reflective contributions to the images.

Michael in the kitchen sink has been replaced by an October 1967 shot of him chasing his Uncle Joseph down an autumn leaf-strewn slope in Cannizaro Park.

Helen and Michael have made way for a honeymoon portrait of Jacke taken at The Kings Arms in Ockley in March 1968. The considerable enlargement of what is a very small part of a colour slide has given the picture, taken in natural light, a smooth grainy quality which I rather like.
Although the deluge desisted this afternoon, rain still dripped off the trees, and formed puddles on the ground, enforcing on us a probably much-needed rest.

The accumulated water droplets formed translucent bubbles that clung to the cases of the, as yet inchoate, poppies, or perched on the spread leaves of the sparkling spurge.
We were able to return to the gardening tasks later this afternoon.

Jackie added to her tally of toads when she found this superbly camouflaged beauty which steadfastly refused to be disturbed.

She cleared more of the radial brickwork leading to the house.
I finished exposing and raked yesterday’s unfinished path. From its construction I would date this feature much earlier than the other footpaths so far tackled. The gravel is laid on road stone and sand, without a weed suppressant lining, much like those I created in Newark, under Matthew’s guidance, in the 1980s. I think this was then a long established method. It probably also explains why the area was so overgrown with plants, both attractive and unattractive. A fresh layer of gravel is needed, and I will need to dig out the raised level of the soil against the left hand boundary of brick so that the new pebbles do not overflow onto the flower bed. I have to thank the eagle-eyed head gardener for suggesting this additional task.

In order fully to display the sinuous curves created by the first designer of the garden,I have taken two additional photographs to supplement the same view as yesterday, one at the far end from beside the weeping birch, and the other from the centre of the track. The key is the spray of white flowers no-one has yet been able to identify.
We began this evening’s dinner with a delicious pork and vegetable soup. Chilli con carne (recipe) and vegetable rice (recipe) was to follow, with apple strudel as our sweet. Sparkling water was the drink we each chose.

The front cover of Iain Pears’ novel ‘An Instance Of The Fingerpost’ bears a quotation from P.D.James: ‘A fictional tour de force which combines erudition with mystery’. And she should know. I finished reading this book of Margery’s this morning. Four different narrators take it in turns to give their somewhat contradictory versions of a 17th Century tale that weaves into its rich tapestry genuine historical characters, both those with whose names we are familiar, and others more obscure. The element of mystery is so successful that I was unsure, until the last few of almost 700 pages, which of the strands we were actually meant to be unravelling. A clever book which I admired, I think an adherent of Umberto Eco may find it a little more entertaining than I did.

I then printed a copy of yesterday’s picture of Donna-Marie as a present for her that we delivered to the salon on our way to Ringwood, being the first of today’s Christmas shopping venues. From Ringwood we went on to Castlepoint, then to Highcliffe Castle’s gift shop. Incredibly we have nearly completed the task.

With the leaves on the trees still glowing warm in the gloom of a thoroughly cloud-covered day, we have observed that autumn seems to have come a little late this year. The next two photographs in my ‘posterity’ collection confirm that impression. They were taken in October fifty years ago when Cannizaro Park was resplendent in various shades of golden brown, and my brother Joseph sat gleefully tossing leaves. I have mentioned before how I, with first Vivien, then Jackie, took Joe around with us everywhere. It would have been Vivien accompanying me when I took the attached out of focus masterpiece.

Still public, this park on the edge of Wimbledon Common, is the remnants of the grounds of an 18th century country house, owned in the 1960s by Wimbledon Borough Council which became part of the London Borough of Merton. The house was sold in the 1980s, no doubt an example of Sir Harold MacMillan’s famous metaphor for privatisation, ‘selling off the family silver’. It is now an internationally patronised hotel in which Matthew once worked when Oliver Reed was in residence. When I had been not much older than my young sibling my parents had taken me and my brother and sisters to play in the gardens.

This evening we dined on haddock and chips, mushy peas, pickled onions and cornichons accompanied by Palastri pinot grigio 2012. Vanilla ice cream with strawberry jam and evaporated milk was to follow.

P.S. Alex Schneideman rebalanced my two historic photographs and e-mailed the results which I have substituted for my originals. Thank you Alex.